Her Drug of Choice
by cactusnell
Summary: Sherlock uses Molly as a test subject. The results are much more than he would have expected. Sherlolly


Dr. Molly Hooper looked down at the text message she had just received from her friend Sherlock Holmes with some small amount of apprehension.

COME TO BAKER STREET AFTER WORK - SH

A second message appeared shortly.

PLEASE - SH

Molly had been trying to train the detective to be more polite, and it seems to have been working, albeit a bit unevenly. She found that the addition of the word "please" to any request implied that said request was of the more outrageous variety. Less "Could you bring me some toes?", and more "May I take a cell sample and attempt to clone your liver - please?". So the addition of the ominous "please" did nothing to assuage her anxiety.

So it was that later that same afternoon, Molly ascended the stairs to 221B Baker Street, fully prepared to listen to the detective with an open mind, but determined to refuse any outlandish request. This time. At last. Hopefully. _Oh, who the hell am I kidding,_ Molly thought. _I'd probably given him the whole damned liver and throw in a couple of kidneys if he flashed that smile at me! Sherlock Holmes may well be the death of me eventually, figuratively if not literally!_

Sherlock was sitting at his usual chair, and said immediately, without so much as a greeting, "Do you remember the Baskerville case?" Before she could reply, he rose to attend to the whistling tea kettle in the kitchen.

"I've read John's blog about it. It involved some sort of illicit research into chemical weaponry, right?"

"Correct. Dr Frankland had developed a defensive weapon, an air born chemical that could induce crippling paranoia in the enemy. It could also cause permanent brain damage if used repeatedly. He had been working on his own, without government support. But in searching his records, I have found another project on which he was working, this one more of an offensive weapon. It supposedly increases the aggressive nature of the average soldier, making them more fierce in combat circumstances. I need a test subject." Sherlock puttered about, making two cups of tea, and finally returned to the sitting room, placing one in front of Molly, and holding one himself.

"You want to try this out on me? Make me more aggressive? Couldn't this be dangerous, Sherlock? Why not ask Mycroft for help?" Molly asked as she lifted her beverage, surprised that he actually remembered how she liked it.

"Mycroft IS the British Government, Molly. I do not want to run the risk of putting such a weapon at the disposal of the military."

"You actually have such a chemical, Sherlock? You found it in his lab?"

"No, actually. I found his research papers. You know I am a graduate chemist, Molly. I merely replicated the compound from Dr. Frankland's notes. I have tested in on various laboratory animals. I now need a human subject."

"And you thought of me because…"

"You are probably the least aggressive person I know Molly. And you're small, and untrained in defensive or offensive techniques. John was in the military. Lestrade is a policeman. Under the influence of the chemical, they would pose a considerable threat, even to me."

"So I'm elected because you don't want your pretty face damaged! How about Mrs. Hudson?"

"Really, Molly? She was married to a drug lord! Who knows what lurks behind that harmless facade of tea and biscuits!"

Sherlock was now getting really excited. His eyes were dancing, and he was looking at her with such an enthusiastic smile that Molly knew that had he asked her to cut off her foot to use as a doorstop, she would ask him to pass the bonesaw! "Are you sure this is going to be safe, Sherlock?"

"I'm sure I can adequately defend myself against the vicious onslaught of a mini-pathologist, Molly."

"I meant safe for me, you insufferable git!" Molly replied, rethinking the whole foot/doorstop scenario.

"Of course. I wouldn't risk anything happening to you, Dr. Hooper."

Molly felt a wave of warm appreciation spreading through her at his words. Until he continued, that is.

"You're the only pathologist who will currently work with me. It would be very inconvenient to have to cultivate another."

"What the bloody hell, Sherlock. Bring it on!" She said with a shrug of submission.

"It's already 'on', Molly. It's in your tea."

"Are you sure? I don't feel any different. I mean, I don't want to scratch your eyes out any more than usual, Sherlock."

"I'm sure, Dr. Hooper," Sherlock smiled at her. "Just give it a few minutes." He then sat further back in his chair, studying her intently.

Molly was, indeed, beginning to feel slightly different, but perhaps not as the world's only consulting detective, and graduate chemist had been expecting. She was unused to being the object of his interest, and she rather liked it.

"Sherlock, I have to ask, what kind of laboratory animals did you experiment on?"

"The usual laboratory rats. One chimp, which I visited at the London zoo, and the occasional stray dog."

"And they displayed aggressive traits after taking the drug."

"Yes, Molly. All of them, with no lasting after effects, of course. I would not have given it to you if…"

"Sherlock, the rats, were they a random grouping, say, of mixed sexes?"

"Well, no, Molly. It was, in fact, a grouping entirely of male rats, which I 'liberated' from a testing facility at a small pharmaceutical company currently trying to gain a foothold in the male potency supplement market…"

"And the chimp?"

"His name was George, so I assume…"

"And the stray dogs?"

"I came across them fighting in an alley behind Angelo's. They were both already rather aggressive males, but…"

"Sherlock, have you ever considered the possibility that the presence of different hormones, say female hormones, may drastically affect the direction of the aggressive tendencies induced by your chemical?"

"Ah! There's always something!" Sherlock sat back to consider this premise.

Molly looked at him appreciatively. She had always been turned on by both his body and his mind, and the conversation involving male potency and female hormones was seeming to have an arousing effect on her. Becoming increasingly curious as she pondered the possibilities of such a drug, she continued her conversation, trying to maintain a professional attitude.

"How long do the effects last, Sherlock."

"It shouldn't be much longer than a few hours, Molly. Why, are you beginning to feel something?"

"You could say that, mate," she replied, moving in what she hoped was a seductive manner in her seat. But her movements seemed to have no effect on Sherlock's libido, merely his curiosity. He rose from his chair, crossed the room, and crouched before her, to study her more closely.

"What's going on, Molly? How are you feeling?" he said, sounding genuinely concerned now.

Molly looked down at him crouching on the floor in front of her. She took in his dark curls, his beautiful eyes, and his well defined cheekbones before her eyes drifted to his very attractive lips. When she let out a soft moan, Sherlock thought that perhaps it might have been better to dose John. He could have faced a punch in the nose much more confidently than the look of hunger in Molly's eyes. Molly moaned once again, and before he could stop her she had lurched forward, crashing her lips into his, gasping out apologies while continuing to snog him senseless. After a second or two, Sherlock had decided that this was definitely much better than a fist smashing into his face, and was blissfully surrendering to the sensations, when he heard John Watson's voice in his head saying "Not good, Sherlock!"

"Damn it, John, don't you ever know when to shut up!" he muttered aloud.

Molly pulled herself away from Sherlock to briefly look around for John, but as she could find him nowhere in the room, she lunged once again at the detective, wrapping her arms around his neck, and whispering, "Damn you, Sherlock Holmes!" into his ear as she blissfully nibbled away.

"Molly! Molly! It's the drug. Control yourself!"

"I'm finding that very difficult at the moment, Sherlock!" Molly was now kneeling on the floor in front of the detective, reaching for the buttons of his shirt.

"Molly, this is a completely unexpected development." Sherlock was now completely flustered. "I think I should take you to the my bedroom and…"

"Excellent idea, Mr. Holmes."

"Molly, listen to me. I want to LOCK you in the bedroom. By yourself! Alone! Just until the drug wears off. I can't let you leave the flat. Who knows what trouble you could get into?"

"I could get into a lot of trouble in the bedroom if you would join me!"

"Molly, think! You know you're under the influence of a chemical substance. You're not responsible for your actions. I can't possibly take advantage…"

"I'd like to believe that that's the only reason you won't…"

"Molly, just let me lock you in the room. We can discuss this further in the morning. But I need you, really, really need you to stay away from me right now!"

Molly seemed to regain some semblance of composure, as she removed herself from Sherlock's chest and looked into his eyes. "One one condition, Sherlock."

He looked at her with a question in his eyes, and she continued, "Kiss me again. Just once. But like you really mean it."

Sherlock nodded his agreement, wrapped his arms around her waist, and pressed his lips to hers, only to find that he didn't want to end it. He was beginning to feel as drugged as his pathologist. He was also certainly aware of the fact that the effect would not have been as pronounced if he had indeed experimented on Mrs. Hudson! Finally dragging his lips away from hers with a small groan, he looked at her surprisingly clear eyes, as he said, "Bedroom?" He took her hand, led her quietly down the hallway, and pushed her through the door, locking it from the outside.

"Try to get some rest, Dr. Hooper. We'll talk in the morning."

"You bet your arse we will!" Molly said with a snicker from behind the door.

Sherlock returned to his sitting room, halfheartedly congratulating himself on dodging a bullet, a bullet he perhaps didn't really want to dodge. As he bent to remove the mugs of tea from the coffee table where they rested, he noticed with some surprise that Molly Hooper's mug was as full as when he had given it to her! She definitely hadn't ingested any of his chemical concoction, and Sherlock had to let loose a small laugh at her ingenious portrayal of a pathologist in heat. Kudos, indeed. She had completely taken him in, and Sherlock Holmes was not one to let himself be bested in any way. He took the mugs into his kitchen, not wanting to leave anything potentially dangerous in the sitting room for his landlady to investigate. Then he turned back toward his bedroom, fingering the key in his pocket. Molly Hooper was about to find out just how aggressive Sherlock Holmes could be. All is fair in love and war, after all, and this seemed to be both!


End file.
